A fig for her story of shame and of pride!
She strayed in the night and her feet fell astray;
The great Mississippi was glad that day,
And that is the reason the poor girl died;
The great Mississippi was glad, I say,
And splendid with strength in his fierce, full pride—
And that is the reason the poor girl died.

And that was the reason, from first to last;
Down under the dark, still cypresses there.
The Father of Waters he held her fast.
He kissed her face, he fondled her hair,
No more, no more an unloved outcast,

MASTER WILLIAM; OR, LAD'S LOVE .

[ Farewell and Return ]

I.

I HAVE remembrance of a Boy , whose mind
Was weak: he seem'd not for the world design'd,
Seem'd not as one who in that world could strive,
And keep his spirits even and alive—
A feeling Boy , and happy, though the less,
From that fine feeling, form'd for happiness
His mother left him to his favourite ways,
And what he made his pleasure brought him praise.

I.

When the rough North forgets to howl,
And ocean's billows cease to roll;
When Lybian sands are bound in frost,
And cold to Nova-Zembla's lost;
When heav'nly bodies cease to move,
My blue-ey'd Ann I'll cease to love.

II.

No more shall flowers the meads adorn;
Nor sweetness deck the rosy thorn;
Nor swelling buds proclaim the spring;
Nor parching heats the dog-star bring;
Nor laughing lillies paint the grove,
When blue-ey'd Ann I cease to love.

III.

In the days when my mother, the Earth, was young,
And you all were not, nor the likeness of you,
She walk'd in her maidenly prime among
The moonlit stars in the boundless blue.

Then the great sun lifted his shining shield,
And he flash'd his sword as the soldiers do,
And he moved like a king full over the field,
And he looked, and he loved her brave and true.

And looking afar from the ultimate rim,
As he lay at rest in a reach of light,
He beheld her walking alone at night,
When the buttercup stars in their beauty swim.

" No, not so lonely now — I love
A forest maiden; she is mine
And on Sierra's slopes of pine,
The vines below, the snows above,
A solitary lodge is set
Within a fringe of water'd firs;
And there my wigwam fires burn,
Fed by a round brown patient hand,
That small brown faithful hand of hers
That never rests till my return.
The yellow smoke is rising yet;
Tiptoe, and see it where you stand
Lift like a column from the land.

" There are no sea-gems in her hair,
No jewels fret her dimpled hands,

Oh, what shall lift the night,
The lightning or the moon?
There is no other light,
The day is gone too soon.

The lightning with his flash
An instant and no more,
Is as an angel's lash
Smiting the dusk-loved shore.

The moon with trembling light
From her pale shell of sleep
Shall kindlier break the night
Of yon thick clouds that weep.

D ESCEND , Thou mild, pacific D OVE
Thine Image on our Hearts impress;
Transform our Passions all to Love,
And sooth our Discords into Peace.

In Arms of warm Benevolence,
Teach us t' embrace all Human Kind;
And like the Sun, around dispense
The Wishes of a gen'rous Mind.

We are but Parts of one great Whole,
And may our Hearts, enlarg'd, exult
To scatter Bliss from Pole to Pole,
And still the Gen'ral Good consult!

LET Others let their Passions rove
Round all the Earth, from Shore to
Since J ESUS is my Friend and Love,
My utmost Wish can grasp no more.

His Glories have allur'd my Eye,
And into Love transform'd my Heart;
To Him my tender'st Passions fly;
J ESUS ! nor shall they e'er depart.

Upon His Friendship I rely.
Still of His tender Care secure;
My Wants are all before His Eye!
Nor can they overcome His Power.

His Presence fills unbounded Space;
My heav'nly Friend is always nigh:
Full of Compassion, rich in Grace;

Earth, sad earth, thou roamest
Through the day and night;
Weary with the darkness,
Weary with the light.

Clouds of hanging judgment,
And the cloud that weeps for me,
Swell above the mountain,
Strive above the sea.

But, sad earth, thou knowest
All my love for thee;
Therefore thou dost welcome
The cloud that weeps for me.

What I had seen a far-away white cloud
So long, had grown a mountain by the morn;
A thousand torrents at its feet were loud,
And rolled one volume o'er its lowest horn,

Which gloried like one whitened wave of sea;
And far above the mountain crags were pitched,
Like a white mocking hand which beckoned me
In gesture, answered by the boat's prow twitched.

Back o'er the lake, leaving me standing there
Alone upon the taunting mountain shore:
Now for my life, methought; and first my care
Was given to tread the shattered valley o'er,